Soon after he took up his Vice-presidential duties, he called
upon Mr. Justice, later Chief Justice White and asked his advice about the propriety
of his attending law lectures in Washington, with a view to being admitted to
the bar after his term as Vice-president had ended.
Chief Justice White had a delightful sense of
humor, as keen as Roosevelt’s; and I know that he must have smiled—at least
inwardly—when Roosevelt, earnest, unconventional, and threatened with boredom,
asked his advice on this point. But the Chief Justice reciprocated, in spirit
if not in letter; and generously offered to supply Roosevelt with books and
to give him a “quiz” every Saturday evening.
However, this plan did not mature. The tragedy
element which looms behind all our lives here broke through, in the lives of
President McKinley, Vice-president Roosevelt, and indeed the life of the [198][199]
nation as well. The bullet of the assassin Czolgosz changed all, even altered
the course of the world’s history.
I once sat in an audience at a theater where two
plays made up the evening’s program. The curtain rang down at the end of the
first play. And we sat awaiting the announced second play. But unusual noise
and clatter behind the scenes puzzled us. After unexpected minutes of delay
the curtain rose, and we saw the stage set for an entirely different play from
the one announced. Later we learned that the illness of one of the principal
actors had necessitated the change and the scenes had been shifted in haste
and excitement. As I look back upon that brief period between September sixth
and September fourteenth, 1901, the fancy strikes me that a similar emergency
and a similar transformation, though vaster in significance, took place. The
Vice-president was summoned from Isle La Motte, Vermont, where he had just made
an address. He sped to Buffalo, where his stricken chief lay helpless. The nation,
by bulletins, followed the thrilling events. The physicians, two days later,
gave most encouraging reports. Roosevelt went to Mt. Marcy, in the Adirondacks.
Favorable reports from Buffalo came to him daily. Then, on the thirteenth, came
the unexpected message from Secretary Cortelyou, [199][200]
“The President’s condition has changed for the worse.” Roosevelt was thirty-five
miles from the nearest railroad station. But he secured a buckboard and, with
a driver as daring as himself, traveled through the darkness of night, with
fog enveloping, over rough roads, dangerous even in full daylight, traveled
with speed, changed horses several times, and reached the railroad at dawn.
There he learned from his own secretary, Mr. Loeb, that the worst had come.
President McKinley had died. Then by train he sped across the State to Buffalo.
And with but little delay, by the expressed desire of the Cabinet, he took the
oath of office as President.
Thus the scenes were shifted. Thus the stage of
the great drama was reset in a fashion not dreamed of.
The “Power not ourselves” was “making for righteousness”,
but in an unexpected way. The various prophecies, dimly outlined by admiring
friends, came to pass. Theodore Roosevelt was now President of the United States.